


The Great Affair To Move

by fenfyre (Jace)



Series: The very Fabric of our Universe [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pining, cities of europe, coincidences too big for it to not be fate, couchsurfing, gay clubbing, multi-city touring, travelling, very brief though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace/pseuds/fenfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marco sets out for a four week long trip through Central Europe he expects to get a whole lot of new input in form of culture, history and hidden, secret corners. He gets all that but what he didn't count on was to stumble over the same, intriguing man time and time again.</p><p>Or, in other words<br/>"I’ve been traveling a lot and somehow you’re in every single city I go to seriously what the fuck who even are you how are you doing this" - an AU inspired by tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Affair To Move

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on my tumblr: [fenfyre](http://fenfyre.tumblr.com/)

Amsterdam, April  28th   
  
The capital of the Netherlands was one of Marco's favorite cities on his journey so far. There weren't as many landmarks compared to Rome or Vienna but it left him with much more time to just stroll around and enjoy the atmosphere. A welcome change after all the sightseeing and clubbing he did the last few days in Berlin.  
Amsterdam was much more quiet and picturesque. He loved the tall, narrow houses with the colorful facades, the canals with the cute houseboats, the bicycles chained to fences and balustrades every few feet and, okay maybe he also kind of liked the coffee shops. Smoking wasn't his thing, not really, but who in their right mind would turn down a magical brownie when it was offered by his generous hosts.

The girls he was crashing at during his short stay were a cute lesbian couple. Krista was a petite music and arts major who played the violin like an angel, while Ymir studied for her masters degree in engineering and had seemed rather intimidating at first. After only a couple of hours though Marco had decided that she was really nice and they somewhat bonded, absurdly, over the fact that the both of them were littered with thousands of freckles.  
The girls frequently let backpackers sleep at their apartment and showed them around the city whenever they weren't swamped with midterms and finals. Like most of the couch-surfer community they were open and enthusiastic, always willing to take tours to the lesser known parts of the city and help organize Marco's remaining trip. At least those were the experiences he'd made since discovering the fine art of couch-surfing a few years back on his journey around Britain and Ireland.  
  
Tonight they had taken Marco to the somewhat chaotic, but overall quite charming restaurant _Moeders_ where they ordered him a plate of _draadjesvlees,_ some kind of national dish. At least that's what he gathered from Krista's giggling.  
The three of them were waiting for their meals while sipping on drinks and conversing in an interesting mix of English and (at least on Marco's part) broken Dutch. Ymir was recalling an anecdote – something about an idiot in one of her engineering classes who had ridiculed her for being a girl and then went on failing a project Ymir aced without breaking a sweat – when Marco spotted him.  
His Mystery Man.  
  
  
Rome, April 13th  
  
The weather was much more pleasant at this time of the year than Marco had anticipated. It was warm, but not too hot or humid. So he could actually explore the city instead of seeking shelter in some air-conditioned ice cream parlor for the better part of the day.  
The first stop of his big, four week trip through Central Europe was, of course, the hometown of his grandparents. They had insisted on him stopping by at least once and so he decided to first stay for a few days and then return after he'd completed his adventure to tell them all about it.  
Marco's grandmother was a tiny old lady with freckles dotted all across her face and long, white hair she wore in a graceful bun most of the time. She took him on a tour all across Rome, chattering the whole time in excited Italian – which he only caught half of – and showed him all the places there were to be seen. It took them most of his two days' stay.  
  
At the evening before Marco's departure his grandparents treated him to dinner, choosing a fine restaurant and claiming it was the last time in a few weeks their grandson would get something nice to eat. Which might not have been entirely untrue since his budget wasn't exactly bountiful. Besides, he was never not up for pizza. Especially if it was authentic Italian pizza. He would never be able to eat that pathetic American style again.  
  
After dinner they took a small detour so Marco could check off the Trevi Fountain from his list of sights he had to visit in Rome.  
There was this custom, his grandfather told him, that if you wanted to return to Rome someday in your life, you had to throw a coin into the fountain. It seemed like there was some special way to do it but Marco didn't quite catch the English explanation. His grandfather's accent was quite thick even though he tried very hard to make Marco understand. He didn't want to discourage the old man and asked him to explain again but it wouldn't do. Nodding anyway, he took the small copper coin his grandma handed him.  
  
There was a young man Marco had already noticed when they hadpushed their way to the front. He gave off a strong tourist vibe, like most of the people here, but there was something about him. His haircut was quite … distinct. Unruly blond on top, close shaven and darker underneath. Maybe Marco had noticed him because of that or maybe it were the piercings glinting in his lip and ears. The light reflected from the water was dancing across his face.  
He was immersed deeply in a small booklet, maybe a tourist guide, frowning down at the pages and turning them back and forth. Then he shut it and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. His face was pulled into a concentrated frown, lines creasing across his forehead as he chewed on his lip piercing and turned around.  
With his back to the fountain the man pulled a small coin from his pocket and clutched it in his left hand. Eyes closed, breathing out, he raised his arm and threw the coin over his right shoulder and into the fountain. After that he just walked off into the masses without even turning around a last time.  
  
Marco blinked, still staring at the point where the strange man had disappeared when his grandma shoved at his elbow a little and asked him to throw the coin already. He did just like he had watched the other man do and his grandparents already congratulated him on his eventual return to the Eternal City.  
He laughed along with them and they decided to take another walk before returning to the apartment. During the whole time he couldn't stop searching for a blond mop of hair in the masses. But every time he thought he might have spotted the mysterious man, he vanished again.  
Marco was still thinking about him the next day, on the train to Vienna.

  


Vienna,  April 16th

  
Marco's host at the capital of Austria was a bright student with long black hair tied back into two pigtails. Her unfathomable interest in history made her an excellent tour guide with lots of details to share about the sights they visited together. The excitement she radiatedwas positively contagious. Marco soon found himself fawning over architectural design as well as feeling in awe of all the historically significant sites he was able to set foot on.  
Three days were not nearly enough time to finish Mina's overflowing list ofimportant places. That didn't stop the girl from trying.  
Their schedule was tight. Cathedrals, city hall, palaces and castles, museums and operas all blending together while Mina dragged Marco all over the city. She practically never stopped chattering about architecture andculturalor historical background. As much as Marco loved soaking all that new information in, after two days he desperately needed a break.  
  
Luckily, Mina had some kind of presentation to hold at her university that afternoon and couldn't continue their tour. She left him some flyers of exhibitions and anything else she thought might interest him and promised to take him out to dinner that evening, then went to absolutely rock that presentation.  
Marco was undecided at first, shuffling the flyers around and lounging on the couch for a while. Relaxing. After about half an hour he decided to pocket the spare key Mina had given him and left the flat, headed for the aquarium close by. It was built into a flak tower – his hostess would have known a baffling amount of details on that – and didn't look all too appealing from the outside.  
On the inside, however, Marco was greeted by an extensive aquarium that was home to all kinds of exotic as well as local marine animals. There was even a tropical area with birds and small monkeys.  
  
Marco spent hours looking at and taking pictures of exotic fish, stingrays, crocodiles, turtles... He was so immersed in the variety of animals on display he didn't even notice time passing. But there was something he did notice as soon as he entered a wide room. Namely a shaggy mop of blond hair styled into a debatable undercut. The man he had seen at the Trevi Fountain.  
He was standing completely motionless in front of the large shark tank, staring into the depths with a blank face. Just as in Rome he was alone, no friends or family at his side, even the other visitors kept their distance from him. His face was strangely illuminated again, the blue tint of the basin shivering across his skin, casting shadows over the sharp features and glinting from his piercings.  
There was something hypnotic about him, just standing there and tracing the rhythmical movements of the sharks with his eyes. It made him look somehow disconnected, almost ethereal to a point.  
  
Marco found himself rooted to the spot, gazing at the stranger from a distance. A sudden surge of melancholy came over him followed by the strange desire to step closer to the man and talk to him. But he didn't move.  
The other man did, instead. Taking a step back from the tank he turned to leave the room.  
It broke the spell on Marco but it didn't feel right to just follow him like that. So he didn't.  
Hours later, when he was sitting in a small restaurant celebrating Mina's flawless presentation with her friends, he strongly regretted that decision.  
  
  
Prague, April 20th  
  
Marco's stay at the Czech Republic wasn't much more than a short stop on his way to Berlin and with just a little over a day not nearly enough to get to know a whole city. His hosts, two freakishly tall guys and a tiny girl living together in a messy apartment, weren't even close to as motivated as Mina. That was perfectly fine, though. They gave him enough pointers to fill his whole day and spent the evening cooking with him. Spaghetti with meatballs weren't exactly authentic Czech cuisine but they were tasty enough. Between the four of them it was a nice evening filled with friendly banter and dirty jokes in different languages. If his three hosts gravitated rather closely toward one another and exchanged chaste little kisses, Marco didn't mention it. They were actually really cute about it.  
He was on his way again the next day around noon. In the trademark chaos of a large train station he thought he'd spotted a familiar unruly beadhead for a few seconds. His eyes must have played a trick on him, though, for when he turned around to check, there was no blond to be seen.

  


Berlin, April 23rd

Marco had known Eren Jäger for years by now. Their odd friendship had started in some online chat room, shifted to their blogs where they could rant about shows and games they both liked and soon led to them swapping Skype addresses and video calling each other every few days.  
About three years ago Eren had even come to visit him in San Francisco for a while, after they both had finished school. All of those two weeks he'd been going on and on about how Marco would love Berlin and that he needed to come to Germany someday. At that time, Marco had laughed it off. But well, here he was now, on his friends couch, studying a map of the city.  
  
Their reunion at the train station had been loud and jovial, causing more than a few heads to turn but they hadn't cared. The whole way to the apartment they hadn't cared, touching and hugging and bumping into each other playfully.  
Joking around with Eren felt so familiar, not at all as if they'd only ever met once in person. It was kind of strange but also a huge part of the reason there was a permanent grin plastered across Marco's face.  
Eren had introduced them to his housemates immediately, his sister Mikasa and his best friend Armin which Marco both already knew from some of their Skype calls. Even talking to them came so very natural to him and their apartment already felt like home after only a few minutes.  
  
They all fell into some sort of routine for the next few days. The activities where planned every morning over breakfast, then they'd split up but meet again to eat dinner at a different kind of restaurant each time. Mikasa had apparently insisted on showing him the most important sights before going on more private tours so he ended up being dragged all over the city again. Mostly by Eren and Mikasa but Armin jumped in whenever they needed to attend classes at medical school so it was kind of an even split between his tour guides.  
After only two and half, exhausting days he'd seen most of what had been on his list, including Brandenburger Tor, Reichstag and the impressive dome. But, according to Eren, they just got started.  
  
The following days were even more exhausting but also infinitely more exciting and fun. Mikasa and Armin withdrew themselves from most of the private tours Eren gave him and it took Marco all but a single evening to figure out just why. Oh, Eren did show him artsy little cafés and cute markets only insiders would know, took him to cozy bars and freaky exhibitions.  
But he also forced him into his tightest pair of jeans and took him clubbing. At a gay bar. Or better, at several gay bars, one more flamboyant and shrill than the other.  
  
Berlin's queer scene was amazing and Marco loved every second of it. He loved downing rainbow colored shots with Eren, loved swaying his hips to the heavy beat thumping through his body, he even loved grinding on strangers and having his ass grabbed more often than he could count.  
The first night was about making him familiar with the best clubs, staying relatively sober while checking out the possibilities, flirting a lot but not going too far with anyone.  
The second night was a lot less tame. He knew now which locations he wanted to return to and really have fun at. Eren promised to keep an eye on him and play the wing man if needed and that was all Marco had to hear before stepping into the club again, melting into the masses as he let go.  
It took him about an hour to get drunk. Not absolutely smashed, not yet, but giggly and flirty, enough that sometimes he noticed the room spinning just so. Eren was always hovering around near him, watching as he danced and drank and wrapped men around his finger, made out with strangers on the dance floor before turning away again.  
  
Marco didn't know how late it was when he caught sight of one particular haircut that was all too familiar by now. The only things he knew where that he was pretty drunk and that this was his fourth chance already and he better not miss it yet again.  
In hindsight, maybe he wasn't that drunk if he could still think about it that way but he sure as hell felt like it as he swayed across the room towards his stranger. The man was leaning against some pillar near the DJ and observed the dance floor with keen eyes, hands shoved into his pockets and head tilted slightly.  
Marco didn't say a word as he reached him, it was far too loud for that, and shot him a hopefully dazzling smile before carefully taking his elbow and leading him into the masses. The man let himself be pulled without any resistance, observing Marco for a while before pulling his hands out of his pockets and taking one of Marco's sweaty ones into his own.  
  
Marco smiled at him again, sliding close as they began to move together, slow, much more slowly than the beat should have allowed but oh it was sexy and so exciting...  
Their bodies slotted together perfectly, the stranger just inches smaller than himself, lean strength coiling in his form. Marco wrapped his arms around those slim hips, pulling him even closer as their breaths mingled. He must have smelled of alcohol while the other man didn't at all, but that didn't seem to faze him. Instead of pulling away, the stranger began caressing his neck softly before closing the gap between their lips.  
It wasn't Marco's first kiss this evening, maybe not even his tenth but it was so much hotter than any before. Compared to the other ones, there wasn't much tongue, only rolling forwards sometimes to tease a little, slow and steady as their moving bodies. But the press of that slightly chapped, dry lips against his, the cool flash of the piercing rubbing against his skin, it was heavenly all on it's own. They pulled apart after some time, in the middle of a song that was much slower than before so their swaying was close to rhythmical by now.  
  
The stranger seemed to have noticed Eren, though. Lingering near the edge of the floor he tried to not be too obvious as he observed them and seeing him like that made a familiar warmth bloom inside his chest.  
Marco blinked down at the other man again and, not a word being spoken as they both reached for the lonely figure not far from them. Eren cocked his head to the side and drew a dark eyebrow up but he began moving towards them nonetheless.  
As soon as he reached them, Marco grabbed his hand and pulled him closer still. Close enough so he could press his now damp lips against his forehead in a chaste kiss and whisper “Thank you for watching out for me” before moving lower and claiming the other's lips.  
  
The stranger watched them, still moving softly against Marco. Then he snaked an arm around Eren's waist and pulled him over to give him a kiss on his own. He was rougher with Eren, biting his lower lip and licking into his mouth with a burning passion. Seeing them like this was a kind of exquisite beauty Marco had never experienced before. It felt surreal, all of this, their warm bodies pressed against him, the deep bass vibrating through his core, Eren's dark skin against the pale white of the stranger's face...  
Neither of them spoke a word for the rest of the night as they kept swaying together and trading kisses, soft and innocent ones as well as the more hungry and passionate kind.  
  
After what felt like an eternity the stranger extracted himself from their tight hold on him and kissed them both sweetly again, before disappearing between the moving bodies around them. There was an air of nonchalance about it and they both expected him to return.  
He didn't.  
  
  
When Marco awoke the next morning it was to a dull throbbing in his head and a warm body nuzzled up against his own. He could smell Eren before he really saw him, eyelids heavy and refusing to open.  
But that smell was all encompassing, clinging to the sheets and pillows, to the hair tickling his nose and the soft skin under his fingertips. Groaning softly he tightened his grip on the other boy and shoved the questions that came bubbling up to the back of his mind. There was no need to panic. Not with Eren.  
It took him barely a minute to drift off again, warm and comfortable and safe.  
  
The next time Marco woke up it was because of a soft voice whispering to him and the feeling of fingers carding through his tousled hair.  
“Come on, sleepyhead. Rise and shine...”, the words were low and rough and slightly slurred, obviously the first ones Eren uttered this morning. “Breakfast's ready.”  
Marco groaned again, something along the lines of “five more minutes” as he huddled deeper into his friend's warmth. Eren didn't stop petting his hair but silently yielded, returning the embrace, content with just laying there for a while and breathing.  
Marco was about to drift off into sleep once more when Eren spoke up again.  
“You want an aspirin?” That reminded him of the throbbing in his head and he nodded, careful not to make it worse. Eren helped him sit up a little, then handed him the pill and a glass of water like the angel he was being right now. “How's the hangover?”  
Marco could only shrug while gulping down the blessedly cool water. “Honestly, thought it would be worse”, he croaked, voice rusty with disuse and the aftereffects of alcohol.  
“Yeah, I made you drink about two liters of water when we got home so...”, he trailed off, reaching out with one hand to try and flatten a strand of hair against Marco's head.  
“Thanks.”  
  
There was a pause then, comfortable silence between them while Marco sorted through the questions he had shoved aside earlier. One in particular he needed to voice, even though he already knew the answer, he had to make sure.  
“We didn't … have sex, did we?” Eren's eyes danced away for a second but there was a small grin tugging at his lips when he shook his head.  
“'f course not.”  
“So we were...”  
“Cuddling?”, the other boy supplied and shrugged, grin a little crooked by now. “You didn't want to sleep alone on the couch and I'm a cuddle slut anyway … it was nice.” He shrugged again, a soft laugh leaving his lips. “I helped undress you, you're a clumsy drunk. And we did kiss some more but beyond that...”  
A memory was stirring at that, him and Eren curled up in bed, pressing slow, careful kisses into damp skin and whispering softly to each other. But no matter how hard he tried, Marco could not remember what exactly they had said. Probably sweet nothings.  
“You want breakfast or not? Mikasa bought new orange juice.” With that Eren was up and out of the room.  
  
The three of them took Marco to his train in the afternoon. He took his time saying goodbye to Armin and Mikasa, hugging and thanking them over and over for their hospitality. But his farewell to Eren was even longer. They hugged, tight and warm, for what felt like an eternity, exchanging promises to stay in contact and to visit each other again as soon as possible.  
When they finally parted, Eren pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Marco was caught a little off-guard but there was no time to think about it when he needed to hurry up and catch his train. He rushed off, grinning and waving at his friends and didn't hear the quiet “Du bist wirklich ein Idiot, Eren.”  
Nor the answering “Ich weiß, ich weiß...”  
  
  
Amsterdam, April 30th  
  
There Marco was now, in a little restaurant in the middle of Amsterdam, staring down the man he had made out with passionately in a gay club in Berlin just a few days ago. Apparently, this was his life now.  
The stranger had yet to notice him, though. He was standing there alone at the entrance, looking like he was waiting for someone. Marco itched to get up and talk to him, toes practically curling in his shoes with the need to make a move. But he wasn't sure what to say.  
“Hey, remember shoving your tongue down my throat in Berlin? Wanna do that again sometime? Oh and I'm totally not stalking you just because this is the fifth city I see you in” didn't seem like the best choice. Besides, he didn't even know if the man spoke English! He could be from anywhere.  
And yet, no matter that Marco had no idea how to open that conversation, he just had to. This might as well be the last time they bumped into each other. That he'd even found him yet _again_ was almost a miracle.  
Just as Marco had talked himself up enough to just do it, the waiter appeared with their meals. He was held up for a minute at most but when he looked up again, the stranger was gone once more.

  


Paris, May 3rd  
  
It had been raining nonstop since Marco arrived at the city of love two days ago. Of course that didn't keep him from exploring like he'd planned to, it just meant that his umbrella was his constant companion. Also he spent a lot more time in little cafes to warm up and change his plans according to the weather. There were just some sights that made no sense as long as it was pouring, so he visited the Louvre instead – which took almost a whole day anyway – and Napoleon's tomb inside Les Invalides as well as some less famous places the owners of the small bed&breakfast he stayed at told him about.  
Today was the first day it wasn't raining buckets and he'd decided to pay the Eiffel Tower a visit now before the weather got worse again and he'd never have a good view from the top. It still wasn't exactly sunny, the persistent cloud cover still hanging low, but as long as the top wasn't disappearing in it, he should be fine.  
  
Marco didn't get that far, though. Before he could even reach the Tower itself, while still strolling through the parkway leading toward it, he saw his stranger again.  
He was standing there all alone on the damp grass, ripped jeans and dirty sneakers, the collar of his dark leather jacket popped up against the early morning chill, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding what looked like a slip of paper, maybe a letter or a photograph. He didn't move. Not in all the while that Marco stood there frozen, openly staring at him. At how his profile was sharp against the gray gloom surrounding them, at the way the blond strands of hair were being whipped around by soft bursts of wind, at his eyes, that were varying between tracing the paper in his hand and gliding up to regard the Tower in front of them while he absentmindedly chewed on one of his lip piercings.  
  
Marco didn't think when he stepped forward at last. He didn't think about what to say this time, if the stranger would even understand him or how this might be his very last chance to talk to him.  
He just started moving, barely feeling the gravel underneath his sneakers or the soppy lawn it quickly changed into when he got closer to the other man.  
Before he could reach him and blurt out the first thing that came to mind, the stranger turned his head to look at him, movement as sharp as his eyes.  
  
“What the fuck do you want from me?”  
Marco stopped dead in his tracks, about two meters still separating him from the other man, and didn't know what to say. What did he want indeed?  
“I don't know if you're really following me but four cities is a pretty big coincidence, don't you think?”, the tone of his voice was harsh and accusatory, cutting through the cool breeze. Marco still didn't know what to say. This was not how he'd imagined things playing out if he ever got the chance to actually talk to the guy.  
His eyes started flitting around, catching on the paper held so delicately between slim fingers. It actually was a photograph, yellowed and wrinkled, and seemed to be of this exact location. There was a young woman at the center of it but before Marco could inspect it any further it was hastily tucked away, the eyes of the stranger turning even colder when he looked up to meet them again.  
  
“Do I have to beat it out of you?” Pale hands clenched into fists as the stranger took a heavy, squelching step towards Marco who jumped back at the sudden movement, raising his hands slowly.  
“N-no! No, it's okay. I'll...” Yes, what would he do? This wasn't turning out as planned. Hell, there had never been a plan in the first place. Just confusion and curiosity and a night on a grimy dancefloor...  
Marco took a deep breath and let it out again, lowering his hands as the stranger didn't make another move toward him and instead just stood there glaring, waiting.  
“It's … it's actually been six...” He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to say but sticking to the truth couldn't be the worst he could do.  
“What?”  
“Six cities. You said four but it's been six”, Marco started again, voice kind of timid and only able to meet the other's eyes every few words before they flitted away again. “I … I saw you in Rome. At the Trevi Fountain. And at the aquarium in Vienna. Then Prague, that was you right, at the trainstation? Berlin, Amsterdam. Now we're here. Six.”  
  
He didn't think that expression could become even harder but was proven wrong. Trying to reciprocate that icy stare as calmly as he could he noticed something. The reason those eyes seemed to practically glow with anger was that they were bloodshot, a little swollen around the eyelids, too. Now that he came to think about it, it was a little chilly but not enough to warrant that feverish redness to those pale cheeks...  
“You stalking me or anything?”  
“I … no. No!” Marco tried to clarify as the stranger cocked his head to the side, covering a little sniff. Oh. “No, I promise. This is just some stupid coincidence. I'm just a guy doing my thing and there you are, somehow doing the same thing and yeah this is crazy but I promise...”  
“So we had the same route for almost a month and you're trying to tell me it's what? Fate? That your shitty pick-up line?”  
“I'm...” Marco was at a loss for words again. Was that what he had wanted to do this whole time? Hit on the guy? Well, Berlin _had_ been … interesting. And the guy was really attractive … but was that everything there was to this? “I don't know.”  
  
“You don't … Okay, you know what? Just fuck off already. I don't care if you're a creepy stalker or not, just don't try anything or I'll kick your fucking head in. I don't have time for this shit.” For some reason this blatant rejection hurt more than the open hostility from before. Marco couldn't do anything but slink back from the stranger.  
This was it then. His big mystery had been somewhat solved. There was nothing more to this than coincidence and maybe a bit of luck. And now there would be nothing more than possibly one or two more glimpses in a crowd.  
“Okay, I'm sorry. Get to Bern safely, then.” That made the stranger, who had already been about to turn away, make a double take.  
“Bern?” He raised a dark eyebrow, blinking slowly while, for the first time, really regarding Marco.  
“Yes, we're headed for Switzerland, right?”  
“No...”, that deep voice drawled, laced with suspicion as he stuffed both his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “No, we're not.”He finally turned away at that, shoulders drawn up as he strode away, leaving Marco behind on the soaked lawn.  
  
This was the end then, Marco realized and an icy sting set into his heart at that thought. That there never really had been anything from the start. On a rational level he knew that this was only fair. They were strangers after all, the other man didn't owe him anything, not trust, not friendly words, no matter how big the coincidence.  
But his stupid heart still hurt like it had been broken by a lover, not turned down by a random stranger. He couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of loss flooding him as he stood there in front of the Eiffel Tower, losing sight of a dark leather jacket between the shuffling tourists.  
  
That feeling didn't leave him the rest of the day. It was still there when he climbed the steps of the Eiffel Tower and admired the colorful windows of Notre Dame.  
Even the next day, when he visited Sacré-Cœur, the beautiful white basilica towering over the more bohemian side of town, Montmatre, the feeling was still there.  
It accompanied him as he took pictures of the breathtaking skyline, when he bought a small vitreous cross for his sister and gave a beggar his change, then had to hide from seven more like her afterward. His heart still bled as he left the impressive basilica to get lunch at one of the cute restaurants nearby and he hated it. Marco hated how little control he had over this, hated how it made no sense for him to miss that man so badly, hated how he couldn't just lean back and enjoy the wonderful view, watch the artists sketch passersby, no. He had to think about that man. Had to let this ruin his mood and his baguette and goddammit, let it ruin Montmatre of all things! There were so many places to get his stupid heart broken for no reason at all but of course it had to be the damn City of Love!  
  


“Excuse me?” A gruff voice interrupted his inner monologue just as he was about to really get into it. Marco looked up, ready to be as pissed on the outside as he was on the inside for once in his life … and froze. And stared. And didn't answer. For what felt like a really long time. Finally he managed a timid “Yeeeees?”.  
Right in front of him stood his stranger. Leather jacket and piercings and undercut and everything. He looked painfully beautiful against the bustling backdrop of the street artists. His shoulders were drawn up again and he didn't look at Marco but somewhere at the tips of his boots, shuffling uncomfortably.  
“I wanted...”, he started, then cleared his throat before trying again. “I wanted to apologize. For yesterday. I was an asshole. You didn't deserve that … and I know you're not a stalker. Hell, you couldn't be creepy if you tried … but I … you caught me at a bad time and I lashed out. And that was wrong. And I'm really sorry.”  
  
Marco just stared, stared and blinked and didn't know what to make of this. Was it genuine? It sounded and felt like it was genuine. But that man standing in front of him right now, who was still not looking at him directly, was not the same one that had told him to fuck off yesterday. Or maybe it was?  
“You … you don't have to accept this or anything. I just saw you sitting here and thought that … apologizing might be the right thing to do.” His eyes flicked up at last and Marco noticed, for the first time, what a stunning shade of amber they were. Chewing on his lip piercing, eyelashes fluttering a little, the stranger tried a shy smile. Had he always been that kind of cute? Hot, yes of course. But … cute?  
  
“That's everything, I just … yeah. Have a nice trip.” It sounded like a farewell but the man didn't move. He didn't get the chance to when Marco pushed the second chair away from the table with his foot.  
“Why don't you sit with me?”  
The stranger did and, over the course of the afternoon, became Jean. And Jean in turn, over the course of the rest of the year, became so much more than Marco could ever have anticipated when he had seen him that first time in Rome.  
  
  
  
San Francisco,  January 1st

“Oh … oh god … oh my...”, Marco heaved, gasping for air as he fell back into the pillows, flinging his limbs out across the bed. “That was ... yeah...”  
Jean snickered next to him, tugging of the condom and tying it off before dropping it somewhere next to the bed before curling his heated body around Marco's.  
“Worthy of a New Years fuck?”, he purred and brushed his lips to the slick skin he found at the nape of his lover's neck, much more gently than everything he did just moments before.  
“I … yes. God yes.” There still wasn't enough oxygen in Marco's lungs but his rapid heartbeat started slowing down and bit so he turned over to throw an arm around Jean's waist and snuggle closer. There was cum smeared between them now, over both their chests and stomachs, but he didn't care. Yes it was gross, sweat and lube and cum everywhere, but it was also just right that way, just perfect.  
  
“Is it … even the new year?” He whispered between lazy kisses before those damp lips pulled away so Jean could raise his head a bit to peek over at the nightstand. Flopping back into the pillows with a breathy laugh Jean answered: “For about an hour, yes.”  
“Oh god, wow...” They had been fooling around since ten. This had to be a new record, even with Jean's crazy stamina. He liked dragging it on and on, teasing Marco relentlessly, mercilessly before eventually letting him come. Marco, in turn, liked to bitch and moan about the denial and overstimulation but oh, he loved every second of Jean's cruel love-making...  
  
“Your phone's been ringing a few times”, Jean mumbled, trailing hot little kisses down Marco's throat and dragging strong hands over his sides. It was no surprise Marco hadn't heard it, he hadn't even noticed the fireworks going off at midnight.  
“Hmm, can you give it to me? I don't think I'll be able to use my thighs for the next few days...”  
Grinning smugly, Jean extricated himself from their tight hug, rolling over to reach for the small phone and throwing it across the bed, muttering something about already having given Marco plenty that night. Marco wanted to roll his eyes at that comment, like the long-suffering pun-victim he was, but couldn't suppress the tiny giggle that left him. He was too boneless and giddy and fucking happy to pretend he wasn't, still grinning like an idiot when he unlocked his screen.  
  
“My mom called. And my grandparents from Rome. Ah, I'll call back tomorrow”, he shrugged, then checked his texts. Most of his friends had sent him messages about an hour ago, as well as...  
“Happy New Years from Eren, he sent a photo, look...” Jean checked the picture, Eren surrounded by pillows and blankets, hair a disaster, face unusually pale. He was blinking tiredly into the camera as he threw up a crooked peace-sign.  
“Looks hungover as fuck”, he muttered, snuggling back into Marco.  
“Well yeah, I guess it's about ten over there, so...” Marco shot a quick text back, returning the greetings, but decided against a selfie. They weren't exactly presentable in their fucked out state. Then he threw the phone to the other side of the bed and wrapped his tired limbs around Jean. Some time passed like this, both of them enjoying the warmth and each other, dozing off but always drifting back into consciousness.  
  
“You know”, Jean said after quite a while, voice low. “I really thought you and him were a thing. Back in Berlin, in that club?”  
At first, Marco just hummed. Then the message fully reached him and he blinked his eyes open in surprise, raising his head to find Jean calmly looking at him.  
“Me and Eren? Like, dating?” Jean just shrugged, slowly reaching up to card his fingers through sweaty, dark hair.  
“Yeah...”  
“Why?” Marco hadn't meant to sound that incredulous, he was just … surprised. This was possibly the first time that dating his friend even crossed his mind. Jean shrugged again, calm and relaxed.  
“Don't know. You just seemed … he's really protective of you, you know? And when we three were … just felt like there was something between you two.” He pressed another soft kiss against Marco's forehead, still dragging his hands through those brown locks. “That was the reason I left, by the way. Didn't want to intrude.”  
  
They hadn't really talked about that night in Berlin. Jean never even hinted on why he just ran away and Marco never dared to ask. Seemed like this was he answer, Eren and him had felt a little too … couple-y?  
“I … okay I love Eren to bits but dating him … that's so out of question!”, he almost laughed, watching Jean's brow furrow the slightest bit in response.  
“You sure? How do you know he isn't...”  
“Oh, I'd know! We've been friends forever, I knew if he liked me that way!” Jean didn't look too convinced, he sighed after another moment, pulling Marco closer.  
“Okay, if you say so.”  
  
They were silent then, Marco resting his head on his boyfriend's strong chest, still receiving gentle pats to his head as well as occasional kisses. They would have to clean up soon. The white smears over their skin had started to dry by know.  
He raised a hand to scratch at a splatter right next to his face, grimacing as it clung to his finger, all gooey and gross. Wiping it back onto Jean's chest was his first reflex, even though it was barely subtle and just made things worse. Jean didn't seem to care, though. Marco felt him take a deep breath before he spoke again.  
  
“While we're at it … there's something else I should tell you.” He sounded careful, weary, and Marco abandoned his fight with the clump of cum stuck to his hand and looked up, concern in his eyes. That didn't sound too good.  
“It's, ahh...” Taking another deep, calming breath, Jean stared up at the ceiling and started to chew on his piercing again. He tended to do that when he was nervous, Marco had noticed. He just stayed were he was, head tipped back to look at his boyfriend but not saying anything. Waiting for Jean to be ready. It took him another few minutes before he started again.  
“It's about the reason I even did that trip. It's not really my thing, cities. I like roadtrips, you know. Open fields and a highway and always moving forward. But that's not … My mom planned that trip.” Jean took another slow breath, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on Marco, hand in his hair now motionless.  
  
“It was a gift. For my graduation. She grew up in Paris, came over here in her twenties, and wanted to show me all the places she'd visited when she was younger. She was … she was so excited, Marco.” There was a soft smile playing at his lips but it fell when he opened his eyes again, still looking up to the ceiling. His voice was thinner, when he continued. Brittle.  
“But she couldn't come with me in the end because … because she died.” Jean took another breath, shaky and short, and swallowed. “She fell ill and she died. But … the trip had been paid for and it was what she'd have wanted, so...”  
Marco needed a moment to process that. All this time he'd assumed the guy he'd seen in every city on his journey that spring had just been naturally grumpy and overly defensive. But instead the guy, who was now his boyfriend laying in bed beside him, had been … grieving. He had taken that trip to heal, to be on his own, and Marco...  
  
“Don't worry about it. Please. I just wanted you to know and now you do. It's okay”, Jean murmured, voice steady again as he resumed tracing patterns into Marco's scalp. “It's been almost a year now. I'm good.”  
Almost a year was an awfully short time for someone to get over the loss of their beloved mother. And Jean's mother had been loved dearly, Marco could tell just by the way his boyfriend spoke of her. But if Jean didn't want to talk about this anymore, he should respect his wishes. So he slid impossibly closer and squeezed the other man tightly, pressing lips to his warm chest.  
“Thanks for telling me”, he whispered and felt Jean nod slowly.  
  
It took some time for them to finally crawl out from under the blankets and head for the shower. When they fell into bed again later, Jean reached for his jacket and pulled a photo from his wallet. It was wrinkled and yellowed, showing a beautiful young woman, smiling and waving in front of the Eiffel Tower.  
Marco hugged him tightly as they studied the picture, neither saying a word. He didn't even comment on the way Jean touched his lips against the paper in the softest of kisses, before putting the photo down on the nightstand very carefully. The unashamed tenderness made something in chest swell and expand as he watched Jean lie down, nuzzle up close to him and shut his eyes, quickly drifting to sleep.  
  
For a few minutes Marco watched over his boyfriend, who seemed so very soft and vulnerable like this, before he, too couldn't stay awake any longer.  
There was a lot Marco didn't yet understand about this man. In certain parts, he still was that mystery he had been in April.  
But Marco was confident they would change that, together. He, for one, was looking forward to that kind of journey.


End file.
